


The Last Time

by ehre_wahrheit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person, Post-Episode: s10e09 The Things We Left Behind, The Conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 12:00:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2850119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehre_wahrheit/pseuds/ehre_wahrheit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> My love, my life. My heart and soul and faith. </i>
  <br/>
  <i> My love, my world. My family and truth and grace. </i>
  <br/>
  <i> My everything, for today— </i>
  <br/>
  <i> Dean Winchester is saved. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Time

**Author's Note:**

> My take on the promise between Cas and Dean
> 
> Merry Christmas, and I apologize.

You feel almost numb as you stare down at him.

The man you loved.

The man that you _love_ , have loved, and always will. It’s so different from years ago, this posture, you standing over him, his eyes trained on yours. This time, though, he isn’t beaten—you didn’t beat him up according to the will of a _creature_ vile enough to think you could end his life back then. He isn’t bloody. This time, he lies pliant on the ground, staring at you, too weak to fight or even _stand_ as he struggles to contain the monster within.

The monster he doesn’t want to be.

You remember that day, the day you promised you would do exactly this, how you had felt exhilarated at his presence even in the midst of a crisis you had caused yourself. You fall to your knees.

“Please,” he says, the Righteous Man, unwilling to fall from the pedestal he had been placed since the day he was born—when he was chosen for a fate he would one day flip for the world to carve its own. He calls your name, his voice week as he struggles to place his hand on top of yours.

It is warm, where your skin meets his, and you feel tears well up in your—your vessel’s, long gone and recreated as it is—eyes before you gather him in your arms. He falls into you like a lover would after years of separation, and he chuckles.

“I wonder how long we could have had,” he says as he turns to you, presses his mouth to yours. He tastes like heaven. “I wonder—”

“Don’t,” you plead, because if he says it out loud you will never stop thinking about it. You kiss him again. “Don’t wonder. We have it now. We have all the time we need.”

And you do, because you can help him. And you will save him. Only it isn’t your definition of saving, it is his, because saving him means making the world more miserable just so he could live. He wouldn’t want that, not this time. You slowly turn his prone body and you shift so his legs surround your waist, arms clutching at your back as if it will ground him forever.

You think maybe it will, but you’re unwilling to ask. You don’t even pull away enough to breathe, you don’t want to talk.

He gasps as you bring out your blade, and you think maybe he feels its presence, but he only continues kissing you. When you bring your hand up to press against his neck, he lets his head fall to your shoulder, allowing you greater access. You shut your eyes.

_My love, my life. My heart and soul and faith._

You press your head against his.

_My love, my world. My family and truth and grace._

One swift stroke, unrelenting and painless.

_My everything, for today—_

Light. Heat. Grief.

_Dean Winchester is saved._

_I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> Send me some prompts [ here ](http://cordzisawriter.tumblr.com/ask) :D


End file.
